He's a fine chiel' that skipper!'
Robert was astonished at the change that had passed upon Shargar.
His departure had cast him upon his own resources, and allowed the
individuality repressed by every event of his history, even by his
worship of Robert, to begin to develop itself. Miserable for a few
weeks, he had revived in the fancy that to work hard at school would
give him some chance of rejoining Robert. Thence, too, he had
watched to please Mrs. Falconer, and had indeed begun to buy golden
opinions from all sorts of people. He had a hope in prospect. But
into the midst fell the whisper of the apprenticeship like a
thunderbolt out of a clear sky. He fled at once.
'Weel, ye can hae my bed the nicht,' said Robert, 'for I maun sit up
wi' Mr. Ericson.'
''Deed I'll hae naething o' the kin'. I'll sleep upo' the flure, or
else upo' the door-stane. Man, I'm no clean eneuch efter what I've
come throu sin' I drappit frae the window-sill i' the ga'le-room.
But jist len' me yer plaid, an' I'll sleep upo' the rug here as gin
I war i' Paradees. An' faith, sae I am, Robert. Ye maun gang to
yer bed some time the nicht forby (besides), or ye winna be fit for
yer wark the morn. Ye can jist gie me a kick, an' I'll be up afore
ye can gie me anither.'
Their supper arrived from below, and, each on one side of the fire,
they ate the porridge, conversing all the while about old times--for
the youngest life has its old times, its golden age--and old
adventures,--Dooble Sanny, Betty, &c.
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